


come on down

by Crimson_Voltaire



Series: Kinktober 2017 [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Friends With Benefits, Implied Fae!Graves, Minor Original Character(s), Power Dynamics, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 19:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12306060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: “It’s been a while,” she drawls, leaning back in her comfortable, wing backed leather chair.Graves follows the movement, eyes hungry, like he’s a predator tracking his prey. Gooseflesh races over her skin.Kintober Day 8 - face-sitting





	come on down

**Author's Note:**

> I like exploring Graves' and Sera's relationship. It's implied that they've "been together" for a while here. The power dynamics between the two of them are super fun to investigate!
> 
> As always, unbeta'd. Please leave your thoughts, or come scream at me on tumblr. I can be found at luminis-infinite@tumblr.com. All your comments and kudos are appreciated!

**October 8th - Face-sitting**  
  
“Madam President,” Bernice’s soft alto comes through the door, followed by her gentle face.  
  
Miles of red hair are piled high in a bun today with a few soft curls framing her face. She looks a little nervous, a little flushed. Graves tends to have that effect, with his dark eyes and sharp look and the wildness to his magic. A shudder runs up Seraphina’s spine; she doesn’t let Bernice see it.  
  
“Excellent,” she says, setting aside the draft she’d been looking through and caps her fountain pen, “Send him in.”  
  
Bernice nods. The president can hear her conversing with Graves for a moment, before there’s a polite knock at the door and he’s filling up the space – all broad shoulders and narrow waist and a lovely dark suit with red tie and white shirt. His hair, slicked back, just begs for Seraphina to run her hands through it; to tug on it, to dishevel it and make it look as wild as the magic in his blood and the look in his eyes. She bites the inside of her cheek and rubs her thighs together. Her gargantuan desk hides the movement, thankfully, but she knows that Graves knows. The little smile pulling at his thin lips tells her so.   
  
“You wanted to see me, Madam President?”  
  
It’s all formality, all a ploy. Seraphina gestures for him to shut the door and he does, locking it and silently casting a spell to silence whatever they say to those outside the room. His magic, lilac white, shivers over the space. It brushes against hers, and Seraphina can feel the delicious pulse of it.   
  
“It’s been a while,” she drawls, leaning back in her comfortable, wing backed leather chair. Graves follows the movement, eyes hungry, like he’s a predator tracking his prey. Gooseflesh races over her skin, the thrill of anticipation making her nipples bud beneath her smart pantsuit. Seraphina doesn’t try to hide her arousal. She slips a hand beneath her shirt and whispers the spell, letting the buttons undo themselves and her clothes fall away. She hikes her bra down and pinches the sensitive peak of her breast between her fingers.   
  
“Straight to the point, I see,” Graves says, wryly, “And it has been a long time. I’ve been busy.”  
  
“Get over here,” Picquery snaps back. If she crooks a finger, she could draw him in to her, but there’s something about seeing Percival Graves swagger over to her, lust building in his coffee-dark eyes, that revs Seraphina’s engine. She pushes her chair back with her feet, giving him space to kneel. Graves raises an eyebrow in challenge. He won’t just kneel for her, Sera will have to _make_ him.   
  
It’s a fifty-fifty chance of beating him with magic; he’s a better duelist, and she hates to say it – slightly more powerful. But he wasn’t accepted into all four houses. He isn’t the brightest of their age. He isn’t expecting Seraphina to launch herself out of her chair and tackle him, pinning his hands to the marble floor with both magic and her own hands. Graves snarls, trying to buck his hips up and free himself. Sera just rides it out and then wriggles forward, until the apex of her thighs hovers over his unfairly handsome face.   
  
Graves stills, eyes fluttering shut. He inhales deeply, slowly, the Other part him – which Sera knows but will not name – rears its head. His eyes go black, the white disappearing, and something like an inquisitive warble builds in his throat.   
  
“You’ve kept me waiting for weeks,” Seraphina says, unbuttoning her pants now, drawing them away from silky thighs with slow precision, “Is that any way to treat your president, Mr. Graves?”  
  
The dirty old bastard likes being called that – it’s probably the power rush. He growls, low and deep, the sound rumbling through Sera and going straight to her clit. She hisses quietly. Then Sera vanishes her underwear.   
  
“Suck.”  
  
The angle isn’t ideal, but to be frank, Seraphina doesn’t really give a shit. As soon as the point of his tongue brushes against her, she is happy to give her attention over to the sensation. He’s so darn good at this; Sera’s trained him well she thinks. Years of this arrangement, of nights sneaking through darkened Ilvermorny halls, of frantic mid-battle fucks, of quiet evenings with too much wine and good conversation, have honed Graves’ mouth into heaven. Seraphina moans softly, sinking into his touch. He can’t tease her like he normally does with his arms hiked up above his head, but slow is good too.   
  
Pleasure builds lazily, as Graves’ laves his tongue over her clit, pressing between her folds and lapping over her entrance. He nuzzles his face against her soft inner thigh, like some pet. Seraphina takes the opportunity presented, taking both of his wrists in one hand and then slipping the other into his hair. She magics away the product, leaving it silky and loose and wonderful against her palm. Sera uses it to press his face further into her sex, guiding him, encouraging him.   
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
He’s so good at this, so darn good. And it has been too long. Seraphina climbs her peak, hovering for a moment before a graze of too sharp teeth has her stumbling off it into oblivion. She comes apart with a soft sigh, thighs quivering and tightening around Graves’ head.   
  
When it’s over, Sera sits back on Graves’ thighs with another sigh, letting him sit upright. A handkerchief appears, and he wipes at his nose and mouth, removing the evidence. It almost disappoints Sera – she wants him to wear it, like a plaque that says _Property of Seraphina Picquery_. She supposes the press of his erection against her ass will have to do.   
  
“Satisfactory, Madam President?” Graves asks, wry again, if a little hoarser. The gravel in his tone sets light to smoldering embers.  
  
“We haven’t finished yet, Graves.”  
  
His grin is wide and sharp and feral and totally inhuman. Seraphina rolls her eyes and grins back.   



End file.
